


capable of coming out alive

by notquiteaghost



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Dissociation, Gen, Jonathan Sims' Canonical Failing Mental Health, Podfic Available, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 23:49:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19486483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notquiteaghost/pseuds/notquiteaghost
Summary: “JonI swear toGod.”Shoulder, shaking. Hands shaking shoulder. Daisy’s hand, Archivist’s shoulder, Archivist’s body. Jon’s body.Jon blinks.“Daisy?”





	capable of coming out alive

**Author's Note:**

> **warning for pov character dissociating** in a very explicit way, this started as vent fic folks be safe
> 
> title from _it's alright_ by mother mother, which is possibly the most s4 jon song there is
> 
> podfic linked in end notes

“Jon?”

“Jon?”

“Jon. _Jon._ ”

The Archivist’s office is a quiet, dark space. Bookshelf, chair, desk, boxes. No natural light. No external noise.

“Jon, Jesus Christ–”

Blonde woman, short hair, dark clothes, scowling, scar across eyebrow from a ring on a fist, speaking. Speaking? Shaking, hand, cold palm, still always cold palms, steady, Daisy. Alice? Daisy.

Coffin, crawling, too close can’t breathe trapped _trapped_` _my eyes shut and the sound filled my ears_`–

“ _Jon_ I swear to _God_.”

Shoulder, shaking. Hands shaking shoulder. Daisy’s hand, Archivist’s shoulder, Archivist’s body. Jon’s body.

Jon blinks.

“Daisy?”

She looks– frantic. Worried? Her hand is still on his shoulder and she’s staring at him and her forehead is all lines.

“Did you. What?”

“You weren’t responding,” Daisy says. Her voice isn’t soft, but it isn’t harsh. “I just wondered if you wanted anything from the chippy but you didn’t react at _all_ , you weren’t even blinking. What _was_ that?”

`Dissociation is any of a wide array of experiences from mild detachment from immediate surroundings to more severe detachment from physical and emotional experiences.`

`Depersonalisation refers to the experience of feeling detached from, and as if one is an outside observer of, one’s mental processes, body, or actions. Derealisation refers to the experience of feeling detached from, and as if one is an outside observer of, one’s surroundings.`

“I, um. I.” Jon’s hand flaps once, twice. “I– Martin– it’s. When.” Flap, flap, flap.

Martin is two floors up and an indeterminable number of meters to the west and distant, removed, absent and Daisy doesn’t know BSL and Daisy wasn’t nearly killed by Prentiss and Tim is dead Sasha is dead Martin is unreachable there aren’t any words just static

Jon’s hands still flapping one shaping _gone gone gone_ Daisy frowning Jon’s eyes drawn again to pile of statements tape recorder clicks hums static _gone gone gone_

“–Jon, I need you to focus. Listen to me, Jon, listen to my voice, focus on me. Just on me, nothing else, did I ever tell you Basira took me on a date to an ice rink once? Worst idea, neither of us have the balance for it. I fell over every time I let go of the side. Took weeks for the bruises to heal.”

“The first time she kissed you,” Jon’s mouth says.

Daisy’s mouth corners turn up, momentarily. “Yeah. Then we fell over again.”

Another tape recorder click. Jon’s lungs expand, contract, expand. Daisy is wearing her coat. Someone in Research is listening to Perfect Neglect In A Field Of Statues.

“You done spacing out on me?” Daisy asks. Jon nods.

“You want anything from the chippy?” Daisy asks. Jon nods.

“You okay to leave?” Daisy asks. Jon nods.

Daisy nods back, places her hand on Jon’s arm, walks outside. The chippy is a ten-minute walk. The sun is shining. Daisy hums Radiohead and keeps her grip on Jon’s arm loose but firm. The chippy isn’t busy. The man behind the counter has worked there for six years. Daisy pays in cash, gets the food wrapped in a bag. The bag is warm. 

By the time they walk back into the Archives, Jon feels almost like a person again.

Daisy guides him to sit, puts his portion of chips and can of Coke in front of him, sits down next to him with her own cod and chips. Melanie takes her burger and chips back to her desk and does ungodly things with vinegar and mustard. Frankie in Research is still listening to Eluvium.

When Jon is over halfway through his food, Daisy breaks the silence.

“Does that happen a lot?”

“It’s not…” Jon goes to run a hand through his hair, but his hands are covered in chip grease. “It’s not a Beholding thing. Or, not _just_ a Beholding thing. Do you know what dissociation is?”

“Spacing out, yeah?”

“Yes and no. It’s– being disconnected? Feeling unreal, like you’re dreaming, or watching yourself from far away. It’s a trauma response, and,” Jon quirks his lips wryly, “my trauma significantly predates my employment in the Archives.” 

Daisy nods. Melanie’s turned to face them, but doesn’t speak.

“It used to come on, though, like a panic attack. Now it’s just, constant.”

“What helps?”

Jon huffs a rough approximation of a laugh. “Good question.”

Daisy frowns at him – just like Martin would frown at him, concern laced with frustration, and it stings. Martin is two floors away. Martin is so far away.

“There must be something,” Daisy says.

“Adrenaline?” That’s one of the worst things, how _real_ danger is. The only times he wants to check out are the only times he’s truly grounded. “Nicotine, sometimes. Tea used to, but I think my caffeine tolerance is too high now.”

It’s strange, being reminded this isn’t how everyone lives. That most people see this as a problem to be solved, not just how the world works. He knows it was better, once – the sound of his voice would turn jarring mid-sentence, he’d lose hours to fog, his reflection would be off for days, but it would pass.

It doesn’t pass now.

“Grounding exercises?” Melanie asks. She’s got her phone out.

Jon, abruptly, wants to scream. It’s good, of course, that they care – except it isn’t, it’s his fault they’re here, he’s a monster, he doesn’t deserve their concern or their care-taking – but he’s already had this conversation.

Martin’s hand on his back. Georgie’s hand in his hair. _You don’t have to live like this, you idiot, let me help_. So adamant he wasn’t a burden, would never be a burden, and, ha.

“I can’t– I–” He wants to _scream_. He stands, turns to the door, turns back, pulls at his hair. “I can’t, I can’t.”

This wants to be a meltdown. Would be, if he had the energy. If he wasn’t running on fumes, ricocheting between floating three feet to the left of himself and hypervigilant over-awareness.

Daisy is stood in front of him, a hand on his arm. A necklace hanging over her shirt, thin silver chain, small silver pendant shaped like a fox, gift from Basira. Her other hand on his other arm, holding him in place. Holding him together. He wants to hit something – she recognises the feeling.

“Hey,” she says, soft, “it’s fine, calm down. It’s just us.”

He nods, jerkily, and she moves one hand to his chest. Lifts it ever so slightly, until he inhales to close the gap, then back down, up, down, until his breathing evens out.

“Tomorrow,” Melanie says, from where she’s still leant against her own desk, “we’re talking about grounding exercises. I can bring alcohol, if you want.”

“Alcohol makes it worse.”

“Fair enough. Chocolate, then.”

“The cheap kind. Own-brand.”

Melanie raises an eyebrow. “You telling me you _prefer_ 35p chocolate?”

“Name brand is too rich.”

“You, Jon Sims, are a right weirdo,” Melanie says, but there’s a grin in her voice.

“I rather thought we knew that already.”

“Don’t think you’ve much of a leg to stand on,” Daisy adds. “I’ve seen what you do to beans.”

“We’re not talking about our food crimes, we’re talking about Jon’s failing mental health–”

“No, I think I’d like to hear what you do to beans.”

“Avoiding your problems isn’t healthy, Jon, you need to confront these things head on.”

“I _just_ agreed to let you make a five-step plan of What To Do When Your Archivist Has Gone To Space.”

“I don’t remember hearing you agree. You just said some terrible things about chocolate.”

Daisy has moved back to her own desk, and is flicking her gaze between them like she’s at a tennis match.

“Dairy Milk is _two pounds_ and it’s the chocolate equivalent of the cinnamon challenge–”

“Your taste buds are defective. Were you force-fed an entire chocolate cake by Mrs. Trunchbull as a child? Is _that_ your pre-existing trauma?”

“Yes, Melanie, that’s exactly it. I can also move objects with my mind.”

“…Okay, I am not done with your sinful opinions, but. Matilda – avatar of the Beholding?”

Daisy laughs, while Jon groans. “We are _not_ getting into this again.”

“Look, I was making a perfectly reasonable point–”

“You were waving a _knife_ at me!”

“I was pointing at you, for emphasis, and I just happened to be holding a knife!”

“Why! Why did you even have a knife!”

“I don’t talk shit about your pet tape recorders, you leave my knives alone.”

Jon throws his hands in the air. Daisy is still laughing at them. Melanie smirks, triumphantly. Jon throws a chip fork at her.

**Author's Note:**

> GodOfLaundryBaskets recorded a fantastic podfic of this [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21261434)
> 
> i am [here](http://notquiteaghost.tumblr.com) on tumblr. also, [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/6D3J9caMKzm3FTeTu0K4TY) is the referenced eluvium song; i listened to the whole album on repeat writing this, when i wasn't listening to dance and cry.
> 
> idk if i write enough of daisy forcing jon to be nicer to himself i'll manifest it happening in canon with sheer force of will but dammit i'm trying

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] capable of coming out alive](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21261434) by [GoLBPodfics (GodOfLaundryBaskets)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodOfLaundryBaskets/pseuds/GoLBPodfics)




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